Not the Best Example of an Angel
by Khoshekh42
Summary: On Sherlock's next case, the body found is a stabbing, and the woman had two large black wings burnt out to her sides. After Sherlock murmurs a few things to her, including calling her 'sister', John and Greg have a few questions for Sherlock. Rated T for language. Based off of Liontalon's story I'm No Angel. Read that story, it's great! Please Read & Review!
1. Chapter 1

John found Sherlock already sitting at the table, his left foot tucked neatly (because when did Sherlock do something that didn't look neat or precise) under his right thigh, and his right foot was tracing circles on the floor. He had the paper held up, and he was staring exasperatedly at it. John stretched the sleep out of his tired muscles, too exhausted to marvel at the fact that Sherlock looked so much like a normal person right then. Sherlock glanced up at John, and the illusion was gone, with his piercing blue/green/grey/whatever-the-hell-color-they-were eyes on John's brown ones. Sherlock huffed, "There's no cases, John. It's been two weeks!" John sighed, "What about that one on Tuesday?"

"She was an idiot, it didn't count. She could've solved it herself if she were to just look clo-" Sherlock was cut off by Sherlock's phone buzzing from inside his coat pocket. As he pulled it out, John could see the caller ID, _DI Lestrade_. As exasperated as John was that Sherlock still didn't call him Greg, he was relieved that there was a case before Sherlock started his nervous twitch again. The last time that Sherlock had gone a while without a case, it'd been three weeks since his last decent case, and Sherlock had developed some sort of twitch. He'd constantly be tapping his fingernail against whatever surface would provide itself, preferably (to John and Mrs. Hudson's dismay) a hard surface.

Sherlock's eyes lit up, gleaming with excitement. "It must be a very unusual case, he doesn't call until they haven't had a lead in a few days, and there aren't any cases in the papers that would be any cause to call me..." He trailed off and answered the phone keeping his calm and cool demeanor, though John could tell that he was excited. Sherlock put the phone down just a few seconds after he'd took the call. John figured that Lestrade had just given him an address, knowing that Sherlock would come without any coaxing due to his lack of interesting cases recently. Either that, or he was so baffled by it that he couldn't explain what it was, knowing that Sherlock would be able to deduce it from his tone of voice or whatever.

They stepped outside, and Sherlock was able to hail down a cab almost instantly. John had always wondered whether it was because he was so tall (John always had problems trying to get cabs, so it could easily have something to do with height) or just because Sherlock was Sherlock. Sherlock gave an address, and closed his eyes. Only the slightest movements could be detected in his facial muscles. John knew from being his flat mate for so long that Sherlock was deep inside his mind palace. John hoped he snapped out of it before they got there, so he didn't have snap Sherlock out of if himself. Around four minutes later, Sherlock's eyes jolted open all by themselves, his pupils retracting almost dramatically. But something was wrong. Something was very wrong. John saw something in Sherlock's eyes that he rarely associated with Sherlock. He saw just the slightest twinge, the smallest trace of emotion. And an emotion that John would've laughed if someone told him that he would be seeing on Sherlock; fear.

"Sherlock? Is everything okay?" John's voice was laced with panic now, but Sherlock just ignored him, telling the driver that he'd be paid double if he got there in less than two more minutes. His voice was just as calm as it had been this morning, but all the more urgent.

John didn't think that the driver would be able to do it, but the driver was able to get there in well under two minutes by using a side road that he thought that Sherlock only knew about. Sherlock dropped the money in the front seat and hurried out of the car. They entered the warehouse that stood at the address that Greg had told the detective to meet them at. John was following Sherlock, who apparently was also told where in the warehouse. They entered a large room, and John heard Sherlock gasp just slightly. John could see why. The body on the floor had a stab wound through her stomach, and two giant wings burnt out to her side. Anderson looked over just in time to see Sherlock abandoning just one of the flimsy plastic gloves that had been provided at the entrance.

"Hey! You can't take off the glove! How many times do I have to tell you about contaminating the crime scene- HEY! You can't touch the body without your glove! Lestrade!" Even Lestrade, who was usually much more lax then Anderson about contaminating the crime scene seemed alarmed. Sherlock bent down and placed his bare palm against the woman's forehead. He inhaled sharply, and clenched his jaw as if in pain. His eyes were closed again. When he finally took his palm away, he looked down at the body, and murmured softly. Just loud enough (but from what he said, John doubted he realized) for John and Lestrade to hear. "Goodbye Tayeal, may God light your path. You were a good sister, and I will find who did this to you." He was sitting on his feet, with drooped shoulders, and John blinked before he realized what Sherlock had just said, but Lestrade had reached it first, "Sister? You never said that you had a _sister! _What's going on Sherlock?"

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**A/N: I owe this story idea completely to the author Liontalon, and her story I'm No Angel. It's a great story, so go on and look at it right now! I really enjoy writing emotional Sherlock (I mean, seriously, it's fun!). I promise that Mycroft will be coming in later chapters! Hope you like it. I don't really know where this story is heading (I mean, I vaguely know, but I don't have details...) so if you have any ideas then please review! Like and comment, thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stared at Greg, as if he was looking into his soul. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything, a deep voice spoke from behind him. From where John couldn't remember seeing anyone go to. Sherlock turned around, moving to the side a little and John could see a short man in a trenchcoat, with his dark blue tie on backwards, "I am sorry for your loss, Amoriel, I know that Tayeal was close to you." Sherlock smiled, "Thank you, Castiel. It's good to see you. I heard that you rebelled. Ever since I secluded myself on Earth, I have not heard much from the rest of our brothers and sisters, so I did not hear why." There was a twinkle in Sherlock's eyes. John was even more confused now. The way that Sherlock said 'secluded myself on Earth' made John feel as if Sherlock were implying that he wasn't from Earth. Also, John noticed, that he said 'our brothers and sisters'. Another brother. John vaguely wondered how many siblings Sherlock was hiding from him. Sherlock appeared to be smiling. Not the fake, sarcastic smile that John saw none too often, but an actual, and genuine smile.

"Thank you, Castiel, for coming" Castiel tipped his head to the side, "But, anything for one of my favorite brothers." John wondered if Greg was about to choke. Castiel continued to talk, "You asked me why I rebelled. Interestingly enough, it was my charge. It was Dean Winchester that made me rebel." Somehow, Sherlock seemed to find this amusing. A strange noise could be heard from behind John, almost like wings fluttering. John turned around to be face to face with Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft ignored him and stepped past him, glancing sadly down at the body. "I heard of the death of Tayeal. I am sorry. But, I was not expecting you to be here Castiel. Last I heard of you was back when you helped the Winchester boys stop the foretold Apocalypse. I personally might've let it go on as destiny told us, but I admire your work."

"You always were one for destiny, weren't you Dynamious? I decided that perhaps destiny didn't have to run its course. That half of the human population didn't have to die." The man called Castiel didn't appear to know who he was talking to, calling Sherlock Amoriel, and Mycroft Dynamious.

"I imagine that The Righteous Man had something to do with that." Mycroft teased. Wait, what? Mycroft didn't just _tease_. Even when he said, 'Should we be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?', he had only been making a point. But this was Mycroft (or Dynamious, or whatever the hell this Castiel person wanted to call him) legitimately _teasing _someone. Castiel smiled, but went a little pink. "Dean Winchester certainly did play his part in causing me to rebel." He laughed, "I believe that he rubbed off on me. I burnt our dear brother Michael with Holy Fire!" The three of them laughed as if this was some inside joke. John was mentally counting the siblings, there was Sherlock/Amoriel, and Mycroft/Dynamious, and Castiel, and Tayeal, and Michael. Five. Three siblings that Sherlock never told him about. And they all had the creepy way of coming without anyone noticing them entering the room. And suddenly Sherlock seemed all pro-God now. And then there was the whole 'Apocalypse' thing. John was startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock starting to say something to Castiel, "I heard about Gabriel. Is it true that he was killed?" Castiel smiled softly before answering, "The death of another brother. It's been too hard on us. Especially after Uriel killed seven of us. Of his own brothers, I still cannot fathom how he could kill seven of our brothers and sisters with no reason. I am sorry that Anna had to kill Uriel, it must've been hard on her. I know that they were closer when they were young." John's eyebrows furrowed, and restarted the sibling count. Sherlock/Amoriel, Mycroft/Dynamious, Castiel, Tayeal, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Anna, plus seven others. Fifteen of them. Thirteen that Sherlock didn't tell him about. Finally John spoke up.

"Thirteen, Sherlock. Thirteen of them." Sherlock seemed confused, and Castel turned to him, "Oh is that what you've chosen to call yourself. Interesting." John chose to ignore that comment, "Thirteen siblings that you failed to tell me about. Castiel, Tayeal, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Anna, and seven others that were killed by Uriel. I bet that there's probably more of them considering that there's already thirteen that we didn't know about. And then there's Castiel, who keeps calling you 'Amoriel', and Mycroft 'Dynamious'. What in _hell_ is going on?" Castiel seemed to find his last sentence amusing. Sherlock stepped forward. "John. You are right, there are others. I have in total around two million other brothers and sisters. Amoriel is my true name, as Dynamious is his. I am an Angel of the Lord."

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**A/N: Well there's a nice cliffhanger for you guys. So, with Tayeal, I just liked the sound of it, so that's what her name is. Dynamious is literally 'full of power' which I thought was appropriate for Mycroft. Amoriel translates into 'Love of God', because I like to appreciate some nice irony occasionally. I hope you like it (I definitely enjoyed writing it (Thanks again, Liontalon!)). Please like and comment! Once again, any ideas and/or suggestions for me, any people that you want me to put in the story, just review. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

There was silence for a minute while John and Greg tried to figure out what was going on. "This is some prank isn't it? That's it. I don't know why, but suddenly you're trying to be funny. You're trying to be funny and pull some elaborate prank on Greg and I. Well, answer me this. If you're so... just... why, Sherlock?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel held up his hand, "Let me, brother. I know that this must be hard for you." He looked down at me with his shocking blue eyes. "But you must have faith. I can tell that you have faith." He smiled softly, and unexpectedly. "I know that even those with little faith can believe." Mycroft scoffed, "You're charge already knew about the evils of the world. He was dead. What else was he supposed to believe? He knew that there was nothing powerful enough to pull him out, so he could logically say that, yes, you probably were an angel. You have given John no proof. None of us have." Mycroft stepped forward, but Castiel stopped him. "No, Dynamious. He should see it from Amoriel. He knows him the best. It will be from a friend." Mycroft pondered this for a moment, and motioned toward Sherlock, who closed his eyes briefly, before the lights in the room started flickering, and suddenly, two large shadows erupted from behind Sherlock's back. Spreading themselves, and unfolding, becoming huge shadows of wings. And for a fleeting moment, John had no doubts. Sherlock was an Angel. But that soon passed. Greg was pale and amazed, but John was angry. "Sherlock!" John's sudden outburst seemed to surprise Sherlock, and the wings on the fluttered before the lights stopped flickering and John could see the shadows no more, "This is madness! Why would you do this. That's what I don't get. I know that you're smart enough to pull this all together, but what I just am not grasping here, is why? Why the _bloody hell_ would you do this?" Castiel smirked at his last sentence before stepping in front of John again. "I know that-"

"Wait, Castiel." Castiel turned to look at Sherlock (_Sherlock, _not Amoriel) "Maybe this is for the best. Maybe he shouldn't know."

"But now that you've gone and stupidly told him, there's no way that he won't wonder." Mycroft's voice was laced with annoyance. "I've got to leave anyway. Meeting." There was a flapping of wings, and Mycroft vanished. Just vanished into thin air. _Poof._

"... the Hell?" That was all that Greg appeared to be able to get out.

"He flew." Castiel said simply. John stared at him, and decided to go on the logic route, "Okay, then if you are all, you know, Angels, then where are you wings? Wouldn't he need wings to fly?"

"We all have wings. Sherlock showed you the shadows of his wings. We can only materialize our wings for less than a second when we're flying, so that's the best we can do. Only Archangels can materialize their wings completely. Although there was this time that I... had a collision with something while I was flying and my wings materialized. It took a while to get them to immaterialize." Sherlock looked at him, "Oh really?"

"Yeah, I got tangled up in something, and I couldn't immaterialize my wings." John shook his head. "Can we stop this nonsense now? Just- Sherlock, Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry, John."

"Oh? So you're sorry that you're... messing with my head?" John asked. When Sherlock responded, he sounded sad, "No. I'm sorry that we aren't messing with you. It's all true." Castiel sounded as if he was trying to comfort John, "You know, I have a couple of friends that can confirm that I am an Angel. Would you me to find them, and would you like to talk to them?" John scoffed. He didn't trust him, but he might as well go along with it. "Sure," His response was sarcastic, but Castiel didn't seem to notice. He vanished just like Mycroft did. Except unlike Mycroft, Castiel reappeared with two other men in tow.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that it's been a while, and that this is such a short update. It's just... I haven't really been inspired lately... Although I did write this Sabriel thing where Gabe is denying his feelings, then Sam is sad that he doesn't return his feelings. Would you like me to put it up? And just... guys I seriously don't ship Sabriel... really it's just Destiel. Anyway... Sorry about the wait! Please like and comment! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

"What the Hell, Cas? You can't just poof us places without any warning. That's just... you can't do that!" The one with the lighter haired sighed. "Where are we?" He said, sounding more tired now that the initial shock of being transported to a different place suddenly had worn off.

"London, England. I need you to... help this man," Castiel- or Cas- motioned to John, "he... he just found out that his best friend was an Angel. I believe that you, knowing that Angels are real- that is part of the problem- I think that you should help him. He seems like a nice person." The man with the shorter hair still seemed somewhat annoyed that Cas- or Castiel- had popped him somewhere (to another country no less based off of his accent.

"John." Castiel said. "This is Dean," he said, motioning to the one with shorter hair "And this is Sam. They're-"

"Friends." The man with the short hair- no, Dean interrupted. "We're friends, Cas." He turned to John now. "I don't know what the Hell Cas was planning on saying We're all friends. So what's the problem here?" John swallowed, "Um- well I think that I might be going crazy. Or he's going crazy." He waved towards Sherlock. "He... uh, well- he thinks that he's an Angel. And your friend- Castiel, or Cas, or whatever kept calling him Amoriel or whatever-"

"The love of God." The one with longer hair interjected, his name was Sam, as John remembered. John raised his eyebrows, so Sam explained, "Well, Amor is love, and the suffix –iel is the root that means 'of God', therefore Amoriel is 'Love of God'." John stared at him, but didn't say anything else, "No. His name isn't Amoriel. His name is Sherlock." Sam's eyes widened "Seriously? Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? As in, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes?" John nodded, "Yeah. Trust me when I say that _Sherlock_ isn't an Angel. That _Sherlock_ isn't Amoriel. I think that maybe you've drugged me-"

"John. I thought that the sugar at the Baskervilles was a sort of drug, but that was for a case. I would never drug you if it weren't for a case. If you know me, you know that I'm not one for meaningless pranks. So know that when I give you this information, know that I would never lie to you. This that you see, the body that I'm in- this is my Vessel. If you saw my true form, then your eyes would burst into flames. This vessel, his name is Victor Trevor. He was an old druggie from the streets, and he was very interested in becoming an Angel of the Lord..."

_"Victor..." There was no response._

_ "Victor Trevor..._

_ "Who are you? Why can't I see you?" The man lying in the alleyway stood up, looking around worriedly, wondering who was speaking to him._

_ "My name is Amoriel. I am an Angel of the Lord. You are my true Vessel. Your life can become a better life. I know that you are a good man, or else you would not be my Vessel. But the thing is, I cannot help you unless you agree to let me help you. Although you might not be in complete control of your life, it will be better than this. Sitting alone, in an alleyway, waiting for your next fix. If you let me help you, you will have the chance to turn your life around. I will help you, and you will be able actually be somebody. Your life will mean something. You will be able to help people. And all you have to do is say 'Yes'." Victor wasn't sure what to do now. He was sure that this was some strange drug-induced hallucination. He looked around, "Who are you? Where are you?"_

_ "I am an Angel of the Lord. Only you can hear me, because you are my Vessel. We have a strong connection. Now, please think about my offer. I think that you can turn your life around. All you have to do is say 'Yes'." Victor looked around. "Yes. YES! Fine, I want my life to be completely turned around. Come on then, Amoriel. Help!" A bright light appeared above Victor. A beam of blinding light surrounding him suddenly. Swirling around like a miniature tornado, the light finally dimmed away. And Victor had a new aura about him. No longer a worthless druggie. He now had a purpose. And he decided to change his name. Because 'Victor' wasn't who he was anymore, and he didn't want to tarnish his memory. Yet Amoriel was strange enough of a name to distract people from things. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. And he would change something. Sherlock Holmes would help people._

"Victor Trevor wanted to help. He couldn't do that with his life, but I made it possible for him, John. I am an Angel of the Lord. I wanted to tell you, but telling you would... well you see, don't you? Just like now, you wouldn't have believed me. I'm sorry, John. I wanted to tell you. I promise." He seemed completely sincere. Meanwhile, everyone seemed to have forgotten about Gregory Lestrade. He was still there, but he'd just stayed silent during the whole ordeal. Greg wasn't sure he really believed what was going on in front of his face. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe Sherlock had drugged him for some sort of experiment or whatever. But no, Sherlock, _Sherlock Holmes_, the Sherlock Holmes that he knew was not an ANGEL. He wasn't any sort of religious _anything_. In fact he'd adamantly told one of Greg's colleagues that religion was an idiots hope for good things to happen. The colleague had gotten so mad at him after the argument that had ensued, that he'd come to Greg demanding that Sherlock was kicked out of the station. It'd taken a while to calm him down. But Greg digressed. But now... well now, Greg really didn't know what to do. He was at a complete loss. And if John was going to be truthful here as well, he was just as much as a loss now as Greg was. If not even more so.

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**A/N: Sorry that it took a while to update. I've been working on my Destiel series. I've been updating that one really quickly, because that one actually has a nice plot by now. This... well, I'm not really sure where this is going. If you have ideas, PLEASE TELL ME! I have NO clue what I'm doing here. I have no idea at all. So, please, IDEAS! NEED! NOW! Please. So... yeah. Please like and comment. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

"I... don't know why you're doing this. Why? I know that John already asked this... but I just don't get why you'd-. I feel like you genuinely believe that you're some sort of Angel of the Lord or whatever."

"I do believe it, Greg." Greg pressed his fingers to his mouth. Sherlock never called him Greg. It was always 'Detective', 'Lestrade', or some other strange name beginning with 'G'. Usually Gavin. But now Sherlock was calling him Greg. His first name. His real first name. Sherlock wasn't acting like he normally did. He hadn't been acting like he had normally been ever since he walked in and saw the woman, Tayeal, lying there dead on the floor with the wings burnt out to the side of her. And now Greg just wanted the old Sherlock back. He would take the annoying, sarcastic Sherlock that he'd learned to like over this strange, Angel Sherlock. No, Amoriel. This version of Sherlock was Amoriel. Old Sherlock was Sherlock, and this version of Sherlock was Amoriel. Greg sighed. "So. Your name is Amoriel now." Sherlock nodded, "I have always been Amoriel. I came up with the name Sherlock Holmes so that I wouldn't be tarnishing the name of Victor Trevor, and I did not go around with the name Amoriel. I thought that it would be strange, and suspicious. Mycroft changed his name for just the same reason. His vessel's name was Jonah Heliot. Jonah worked at a convenience store. Like Victor, he had no life ahead of him. Being Dynamious, or Mycroft, Jonah quickly said yes. Now" His voice quickly transitioned from the soft, calm voice that he'd been using throughout the entire business, to what John usually thought of when he thought of Sherlock. He was using Sherlock's voice

"I believe that we still have a case to solve. Obviously it was another Angel that killed Tayeal, having an Angel blade." Castiel stepped forward, "I believe that I can shed some light-"

"Dude. I'm still kinda pissed right now about, you know, freakin' England! Could we go back to Maryland now? We were working a Shtriga case there. You know, evil little bitches. They screw with kids. So... you know, could you just kinda, pop us back?" Cas held up his hand, indicating for Dean to be quiet for a moment. Dean seemed to be offended, and Sam just started laughing. "Dean, your face there is just priceless. It looks like he just insulted your Baby." Dean shook his head, the ridiculous expression on his face sliding off as he did so. "Nah, that would be angrier. I was just surprised that he wasn't, you know, poofs us back without a second glance. Just a bit surprised." Sam laughed again, "Nope. You looked so offended that he ignored you, _Princess._" Sam used Bobby's jibe. Dean attempted to give Sam a bitchface, but failed epically, only causing Sam to laugh even harder.

"This was done by one of Raphael's men. Tayeal was a good soldier, and a good friend. I am glad that she chose to fight on my side, yet I am saddened that it got her killed. I will report her death to the garrison. I am truly sorry Amoriel." He vanished without a second glance. Sam stopped laughing now. "Hey! He was our only way back to Maryland!" Dean pulled a face, "Come on Cas! Get your damn, holy, feathery ass down here. Now!" He paused for a moment, "Please?" Sam started laughing again, "Oh geez, now he's saying _please! _You'd better pay attention now!" Sam teased Dean, but Dean childishly stuck his tongue out at Sam and just ignored the comment. John looked like he might pass out. Greg appeared to have already gone into a semi-comatose state where he was actually still awake.

*:*:*:*:*

Twenty minutes later found them all back at Baker Street, with Mrs. Hudson catering to them all. Sherlock kept insisting that he didn't need food. Sam seemed amused by this. "So," he said, after he finished his first cup of tea (of many that he would have in the next hour or so), "Sherlock Holmes. An Angel of the Lord. Damn. Well this definitely wasn't what I was expecting today. What I was expecting was to gank a Shtriga and save a couple kids, but going to London, meeting Sherlock Holmes, finding out that he's an Angel, then drinking tea- excellent tea, if I must say so- in his living room. Naw. Not really what I was quite expecting. How about you Dean?" Dean just nodded his head, too immersed in his new-found adoration in Mrs. Hudson's tea. There was a sharp knocking at the door. Sherlock glanced up, and John could see the cogs working in his brain, and for just a moment, he could imagine that it was a week ago, he didn't know about 'Amoriel', and this was going to be a normal case. Nice normal murder for Sherlock to solve. But when had that ever been the case for any of the for people in the room.

"They're in a hurry. Someone's chasing them. Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock raised his voice at the end, "Could you answer the door, and let the person in?" They could hear Mrs. Hudson opening the door, and then someone running up the stairs. The woman burst into the room, her eyes immediately sought out the person (or people) that she was looking for. The Winchesters. She sought out Sam in particular, "You!" She hissed, "You killed my sisters!" Sam held up his hands, not really expecting any of this, "I'm sorry!" he said, "I promise that I must've had some sort of reason that they're dead! I wouldn't kill anyone in cold blood!" But even as he said it, he knew that it wasn't true, he desperately hoped that this wasn't coming from someone whose sisters that he ran into when he had no soul. Because he knew that, if he had run into anything- human, monster, innocent, guilty- if it had gotten in his way, he would've killed them. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did anything." The creature started to say something, when the blade of a knife could be seen coming through the chest of the thing. The knife was twisted once, and the thing (which the hunters in the room could now identify as a Vetala) started to crumble. It sagged down to the ground, and Sam could now see the person- woman- that had killed it. She was wearing a black tank to make sure that no one would see any blood stains in it, practical jeans that would be unobtrusive while hunting, and her lengthy blond hair put up in a high ponytail that Sam quickly recognized as the universal hunter- female- with- long- hair- that- we- want- to- get- in- the- way- hairstyle. She wore a determined glare that said 'you will not kill anyone anymore. I took care of that'. Sam was reminded of Jo. And it hurt. John was staring at the woman with a blank expression,

"Molly?"


	6. Chapter 6

The woman- Molly- looked up from her kill, and saw John gaping at her, "John. Oh. Hello." All that John could do was continue to stare at her. "That the hell? First Sherlock, now... this?" Sherlock was staring at Molly, trying to deduce her like he always did. Sam nodded, "So, hunter?" She smiled, softly, quite unlike most hunters, who would've glared suspiciously at him. But Sam could tell that Molly was different from most hunters that they met. Molly continued to smile warmly, "It takes one to know one, right?"

"Yeah. Sam. Sam Winchester." Molly's eyes widened as Sam held out his hand for her to shake. Molly's smile fell into a look of awe, a look that John hadn't even seen on her when she was looking at Sherlock working a case. This was even more than that. Molly didn't seem to have noticed Sam holding his hand out, so he put it down. She didn't even seem to notice that movement. "Oh my God. You're Sam Winchester. And then, you must be Dean." She looked over at Dean, who nodded in confirmation. She turned back to Sam, who was looking genuinely confused by now.

"You two are famous. Just among hunters of course. But... you were the two brothers that saved the world. You saved all of us. You two are literally the best hunters in the world." Sam scoffed, "Nah. Best hunter's got to be Bobby." Dean nodded, "Although if you'd like to put us as second best, then I would be good with it. Even..." Dean's joking demeanor seemed to have ran off in just a few seconds, "Even if we don't really deserve the title."

"Are you kidding me? You two stopped the Apocalypse!"

"Yeah, and we also started it! So it was our job to clean it up." Molly started at Dean, as of he'd just told her that he truly believed that he had two heads and purple skin. Molly shook her head, and her face looked as if she couldn't believe that Dean Winchester actually thought that he wasn't one of the best hunters on the planet. And really, she couldn't believe it. But she kind of could. It'd really been the same with Sherlock. He never wanted to become famous. He just wanted a nice, complicated murder. But then James Moriarty had intervened, and Sherlock really couldn't have that anymore. Thinking about him now made her remember what John had said just a few minutes ago. 'First Sherlock...' Her face arranged itself, and she was now clearly confused. "John... what did you mean when you said 'First Sherlock'? What happened with Sherlock?" John sputtered for a moment. "I- Sherlock? You just stabbed a guy who then crumbled. And I hardly even see you in short sleeves, never a tank top though. Sam called you a 'hunter', what is that? What- what happened to YOU, Molly?" He sounded half angry, and half concerned for his friend. Mary shuffled nervously, "Uh, yeah, I'm a hunter. I hunt and kill supernatural beings. I got out of the life for a while there, but then I heard about the Vetala and... well, I just couldn't resist. Besides, I didn't know if there were going to be other hunters in the area, and I didn't want anyone else to get killed."

"Listen," Sam sounded just as nervous as Molly looked. "I get that this is a personal question, and you don't have to answer it, but how does a girl like you get into something as dangerous as hunting? I mean, we pretty much carry the most dangerous job in the entire universe." Molly only got even more nervous, "Oh... no it's fine. Uh, we moved into a house, it was haunted, and the ghost killed my brother. He was only seven. He should've been able to live for longer. It... just wasn't fair. Hunting was the only way that I felt that I could get revenge for what that damned ghost did to my baby brother!" Dean winced slightly, knowing what it felt like to have someone hurt and even kill your kid brother.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, seeing Dean reacting like this. "Sorry. About your brother."

"It's fine, really. I've... you know, had time to adjust." Molly's voice was soft, and they could tell that she really hadn't adjusted completely. Sherlock seemed to have found his voice again, "Molly. I had no idea... that you had a brother." John started starting at Sherlock with raised eyebrows, "You, didn't... know something? You? You who knows everything?" Sherlock sat back in his chair, and rolled his eyes. A trick that he'd learned from John a long time ago. John regretted showing him how.

*:*:*:*:*

Around an hour later, after they'd all told their stories (Sam and Dean combined their stories as one so that they didn't waste time. Molly told the story of her being a hunter, Sherlock told about how he was an Angel of the Lord, John told how he found out about it, and Sam and Dean basically told their entire life story at Molly's request. Sherlock still seemed annoyed that he hadn't known about Molly being a hunter. When Molly spoke next, she spoke tentatively, as if she were scared of what the answer might be, "Um. If you're an Angel and all, is you being so good at reading people because of that?" Sherlock smiled, "No. I haven't tapped into my Grace for years until this. The last time I did was when... oh- I can't even remember anymore. I know that it wasn't when Victor said yes. I think it was when I used it to save Gregory from death. I was exhausted afterward because I hadn't tapped into my Grace for such a long time. I wiped his memory; he now has no recollection of getting stabbed at all. Mycroft, of course, uses his Grace all the time. He's always getting injured. The only one to know is Anthea." An annoyed expression passed over his face, "I still can't figure out what her name is. Mycroft won't let me find out." Sherlock continued to scowl, but the rest of them laughed and continued chatting. They were all so immersed in their conversation, that they didn't even notice the light haired man enter the room.

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**A/N: Molly's a hunter! Sorry, I just couldn't resist it after reading this other story (sorry if I stole your idea), but ****I just felt that it was so out of character for her to be a hunter that I just had to put it into the story. I love Molly, she's such a great character who doesn't get even half the credit that she deserves (She stabbed her fiance with a fork!). Thanks for putting up with me and my crazy schedule for updating all my stories. I'm kinda trying to slow down the updating a bit so that it won't be such a dramatic change when I can't update as often when school starts (Grr... School gets in the way of the important things in life, does it not?). Please like and ****comment****! Thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

Although finally it was Sam that was the one that noticed that the man was standing in the corner. "What the HELL!" The man jumped. He muttered "shit" under his breath, and vanished in a flurry of wings. Dean jumped up when Sam shouted, "What is it? Who was it?" He'd heard the sound of wings too, so he knew that it was an Angel. Sam stared at the spot for a moment. "I think- well it certainly looked like- but it couldn't have been- but-"

"Who was it, Sam?" Dean had pulled the demon knife out of his pocket, just out of instinct, even though he knew that the knife would have no impact on an Angel if he were to stab one with it.

"I think... I think it was Gabriel." Sam said, not looking away from the corner that the man/Gabriel? had been standing. Sherlock stood up. "No. I thought that Castiel said that he died. Sam nodded, "Yeah... Elysian Hotel. He was stabbed by Lucifer. We went back later on, and we saw him. He was definitely dead. We burned his body." Molly seemed to be very confused about all of this, while John seemed to be less confused, but more exasperated. He muttered under his breath. "Jesus. Sherlock's a bloody Angel named 'Amoriel'. Mycroft's an Angel. Molly's a hunter. People coming back from the dead again. Can't I just have just one bloody normal day?" Molly looked at him, and patted his shoulder. That's what she felt like when her brother had been killed by the ghost. That's what it felt like when she became a hunter. The only thing that had been keeping her going really, had been knowing that she was saving people, so that they didn't have to go through losing a brother, or sister, or parent. She didn't want anyone to have to go through the heartbreaking terror, and grief that she'd gone through when she was just twenty-one years old. She tried especially hard when there were children involved. Her brother had only seventeen.

Despite all of Sam's assurances that they definitely saw that Gabriel was dead, there was a glimmer of hope in Sherlock's eyes. Of all of his older, Archangel brothers, Gabriel had been, by far, his favorite. Michael and Lucifer had always been squabbling, and Raphael had the air of 'I'm too good for all of the younger Angels' about him constantly. Gabriel definitely a strange Angel, not the smartest either. Anabiel was always following him around, and shaking her head. But he was genuinely nice to the younger Angels. Always breaking up fights between Balthazar and Uriel. They had hated each other, and Gabriel was always the one to intervene and keep them from nearly killing each other. Gabriel had been the one to teach him and Tayeal how to fly. Amoriel had made sure that Gabriel wasn't planning to strap him to a catapult like he'd done with Castiel. Gabriel was a good friend, and a good brother. He'd been in the heart of the Adler case when he'd thought that Gabriel had died. John had assumed that he was grieving the death of Irene Adler, but really it had been the death of the Archangel Gabriel that caused him to grieve. He just never corrected John. Now there was the chance that Gabriel could be alive. And had been standing in his living room. Sherlock cursed himself for not noticing the Angelic presence in the corner of the room, that now, if the thought about it, he could defiantly sense the traces of the Grace that Gabriel had left behind. It still wasn't enough to tell if it was Gabriel or not. It was definitely a strong Grace, whosever it was.

"Well?" Dean's voice brought him out of his thoughts, "Was it him?"

"It was definitely an Angel." Sherlock walked to the corner, but it still wasn't helping any,

Dean rolled his eye, "No shit, Sher- No shit." Dean re-chose his choice of words midsentence, causing Sam to smirk, and Molly to giggle slightly. _Well that's not something you hear a sober hunter doing much,_ Dean vaguely thought,_ I don't know many hunters that would giggle. I mean, Garth might. But..._ Dean shook off the pointless thought, and returned his thoughts to Mystery Angel/Maybe Gabriel. He looked at Sherlock pointedly, silently asking if he could discern who had been standing in the corner. Sherlock shook his head. Sam calmed down slightly, but his eyes still lingered suspiciously on the spot that he'd last seen what had possibly been the The Trickster. Loki. The Archangel Gabriel. Their friend Gabriel.

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**A/N: To answer the guest review 'so if Dean was Castiel's charge does that mean that John was Sherlock's?' Well Brittany (I'm going to assume that your name starts with a capital letter, and not brittany as you said) I love the question, extra cookies to you. I really don't know. That's the most honest answer that I can give you right now. If you have an idea with it, please tell me. I'm just going where my writing leads me. Hence the short chapter today. And Gabriel. Because I couldn't resist. I mean, come on guys, it's GABRIEL! I love Gabriel. You love Gabriel (and if you don't, what's wrong with you?). We (hopefully) all love Gabriel. So there. Problem solved. PLEASE like and comment. Thanks!**


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